


nitesky

by emollience



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 3 times, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post S7, technically takes place in those months between the hospital & finding the altean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emollience/pseuds/emollience
Summary: The setting evening sun splays gold and pink over his face, the blue-black of his hair. A different picture than him with his chin resting in hand under the orange Garrison meeting room glow or him standing behind them all, arms crossed, the faint cyan castle lights catching in his hair. Softer. More at ease. Her breath catches.three times princess allura of altea wanted to kiss keith kogane, and one time she did.





	nitesky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poopemoji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poopemoji/gifts).



> gay culture is making the title of a fic the name of the song you listened to on repeat while writing. 
> 
> happy belated birthday to 1/3 of the whole librabonded idiot, my best friend arrow who i love and adore with all my heart. this is two days late bc i'm a mess. hope u enjoy!!

Keith waits for her outside the conference room.

The holopad and files rest precariously in Allura’s arms. Tendrils of loose curls fall from a haphazardly put together bun. Without a word, he takes the files from her and tucks them beneath an arm, offering a smile.

“Thank you,” she breathes. She holds the holopad to her chest and they make their way towards the Garrison cafeteria in what is now a tentative tradition. Still new and a little uneasy after he popped into her hospital room with a mouthful of apologies, but…nice. Something similar to that wavering friendship built in the months of Shiro’s disappearance, the two of them scrambling as co-leaders except this time neither flinches back.

They’re almost to the cafeteria when Keith touches her elbow and nods in the direction of a different hall. She blinks at him, still half turned towards their original path, but then he tugs at her again with a smile and well, she’s always been too curious for her own good.

The inside the black lion isn’t what she expects — nor is the red hoverbike hidden in the depths of its belly.

“That’s not Altean,” she says.

Keith chuckles. He stuffs the files in a bag and leaves it propped against a far wall. “It was my dad’s. A couple weeks ago I went back to our old place and found it in one piece.”

“Oh.” She’s still clutching at the holopad, eyebrows furrowed. She steps closer. “How’d you manage to sneak it back here?”

He grins at her.

“Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“C’mon. Leave that with the rest of the files and let’s go out for a bit.”

She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. Keith starts to drag the bike out. It’s a split second decision to do as he said and follow after him. No one stops to question them, which they shouldn’t regardless since by all means they’re off duty. Still, it’s a relief that once they’re out under the desert sky no eyes linger.

Keith hands her a pair of googles. She watches as he pulls them on and slings a leg over the seat of the bike. He holds a hand out.

She grins as she takes it.

The bike speeds forward and as the wind picks up around them, her hair escapes the pins holding her bun up. Silver locks billow out behind them. She hardly notices, laughing as she clings to Keith’s back, arms around his waist.

She glances back, once, and the Garrison grounds disappear beyond the horizon.

“Hold on!”

The engine roars. The front of the bike tips back right before speeding up. Allura rests her chin on his shoulder and _grins_.

“Is this the fastest this thing will go?” she yells over the engine. “The castle’s space pods went faster than this!”

She feels more than hears his laugh as it rumbles in his chest.

Too soon they ease to a stop at the edge of a cliff. She’s still laughing, arms wrapped tight around Keith’s torso, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

He squeezes at her wrist. She lets go, arms aching. Every inch of her itches to keep racing through the desert, the browns and greens blurring together, the pulse of Keith’s heart racing beneath her hand. But when Keith offers a hand to help her down, she accepts it and hops off.

Allura stumbles forward, legs shaking. Her free hand presses against the center Keith’s chest and he steadies a hand on her shoulder with an out of breath, “Whoa there.”

“Sorry! Sorry. I guess I’m a little dizzier than I —” She looks up and meets his gaze, the endless array of violet bright and wide staring back at her, the corners of his eyes crinkled from his smile. The setting evening sun splays gold and pink over his face, the blue-black of his hair. A different picture than him with his chin resting in hand under the orange Garrison meeting room glow or him standing behind them all, arms crossed, the faint cyan castle lights catching in his hair. Softer. More at ease. Her breath catches.

She snatches her hands away.

He blinks back at her.

“Anyways!” She slinks past him, smoothing at her now fluffed up curls. “We should head back soon, shouldn’t we?”

Silence. She glances over her shoulder and catches sight of Keith staring back at her, the corner of his mouth tugged down into the faintest of frowns, except when their gazes meet something flickers in his expression and then shutters closed, almost as if it never existed. He offers a barely there smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

 

—

 

Reconstruction is a long and laborious effort even with the lions and the Atlas to speed up the process. Days off are a blessing; a rarely sought after gift that the paladins aren’t really sure what to do with.

“Go sightseeing. Check out how the city’s doing now that fifty percent of it is back up,” Sam had said, barely looking up from his holopad. “Don’t you kids need new clothes anyways? A bit of shopping would do you good.”

Which — he was right, Allura supposes. She’s in the middle of sifting through a cart’s jewelry section when thunder cracks. She tenses, eyes flitting to that of the merchant’s except they’re smiling back at her.

“It hasn’t rained in months.”

Rain.

She hands the earrings back to the merchant’s hands with a quick, “Thank you!” and rushes from the shade of canvas canopies right as the sky breaks and fat drops of rain splatter onto the ground. Allura stands in the middle of the street, palms raised and her face tilted up.

It’s like this, minutes later, her clothes clinging to her skin and her hair sticking to the back of her neck, her cheeks, that Keith finds her.

“Lance mentioned once that Coran said Altea had flaming rocks that fell from the sky.” Keith comes to a stop besides her. She tilts her head towards him, smiling. He’s as drenched as she is. He pushes back wet locks of hair from his face.

“It’s true.” At the other end of the street, the others splash in puddles. Pidge’s laughter rings loud. “We didn’t really have water. So we’ve only ever experienced rain on other planets.”

“But the castle had a pool?”

“A gift from Blatyz when father and him first formed an alliance.” She kicks off her shoes and wiggles her bare toes against the wet asphalt. The ends of her long skirt drip water. She pushes up the wet sleeves of her sweater then grabs for Keith’s hands.

Pink creeps up his neck, his cheeks. “Uh?” 

“Come on!” She starts to spin them in a circle. It’s ridiculous, silly — she’s far too old for such a childish gesture, but Keith grins wide at her and holds on tight as they spin, and spin, and spin.

She stumbles and trips, pulling them both down to the ground. It should hurt, except she’s giggling too hard. Their feet tangle together. She rolls onto her back, arms wrapped around her belly. She turns her head and finds him already looking at her, eyes soft.

Drops of rain trail down his face. She reaches forward and wipes them from his cheek. Her palm rests right at the raised smooth scar splicing his cheek.

“Allura,” he breathes.

And she looks at his lips and it strikes her that she wants to kiss the storm rain off them. It’d be easy, she thinks, to lean in. A simple chain of events finally breathed to life: her mouth on his, her hands in his hair, his on her waist.

“You guys!” Hunk’s voice echoes.

Allura recoils as if burnt and pushes herself up. Keith’s gaze lingers, but he stands and helps her up just as Hunk reaches them.

“You gotta get over here. Lance and Pidge found a couple of balloons in one of the buildings we fixed up a few days ago and we’re gonna fill ‘em up for a water balloon fight.”

“We’re already soaking wet,” Keith says.

Hunk loops an arm through Keith’s and drags him forward. “Exactly! That makes it even more fun.” He looks at Allura. “You’re on my team, princess.”

She collects herself, brushing back wet strands of hair from her face. She can’t meet Keith’s eyes.

“Oh,” she starts, taking Hunk’s other arm with a too wide grin, “we’ll destroy them.”

 

—

 

The Atlas is a maze of spacious beige and white walls, militaristic and resourceful where the castle was elegant and bright. It’s not bad, only different. Allura traces the walls with her fingertips in the middle of the night just as she did the castle, roaming and wandering with no thought or rhythm, only restless energy buzzing through every limb.

Even with the distinct earthen design she catches bits of the castle that inspired its conception: the arch of an entrance way; the glowing overhead lights, less harsh than the fluorescent barracks; even the whirr of the ventilation system.

It’s somewhere halfway to the helm that she turns a corner and quite literally bumps into Keith.

They jump apart and stare at one another: Allura, hands cradled to her chest; Keith, hands still in his pockets.

“I’d chastise you for being up so late,” she starts, “except judging by your face that wouldn’t go over so well.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. “Right back at you.”

Another pause. Keith wears his Garrison uniform instead of the jeans and black tee shirt she’s become accustomed to seeing him on while off duty. The bags under his eyes glare bruisingly back at her. His hair’s unkempt, strands sticking up as if he’s been running his hands through them repeatedly.

Even in her nightgown, hair smoothed into a neat plait down her back, she can’t imagine she looks any better.

She steps forward to take his arm.“Let’s see if we can find that stash of cookies Hunk baked earlier.”

It’s a quick and silent trip. She keeps their arms interlocked. Warmth radiates from him, seeping through her nightgown. If she’s slow to let go once they reach their destination, Keith makes no comment on it.

“I don’t know if he’d keep them here,” he says, instead, opening a pantry.

She follows suit, going through different cabinets. “Why not?”

“Anyone could get them here. He’d probably keep them in his room if he hasn’t already given them all to Pidge and Romelle.”

“…And you couldn’t have mentioned this before we made it all the way here?”

No answer. Allura turns to look over her shoulder. Across the room, Keith stares down at empty tupperware (she thinks, remembering Hunk calling the plastic containers such) with an interesting shade of red rising up his neck and cheeks.

“I, uh.” He puts the tupperware away and turns his back to her. “Didn’t — think of it till now.”

“Mhm.” Her hands clasp together at her back as she crosses the room and tries to look at him, leaning forward with an eyebrow raised. “I guess we’ll just have to bake them ourselves.”

He freezes. “Uh—”

“It’ll be fun!” She touches his elbow and tugs him towards the pantry once more. It takes little force for him to follow after her, that too tired, ragged look in his eye slipping into something a little more familiar that she still won’t put a name to.

“No offense,” he starts, accepting the flour she hands him, “but do you…I mean, the castle only had food goo —”

“Hunk taught me the basics.” She rolls her eyes and smacks the box of baking soda to his chests. He grunts. “Hence why I’ll need your help.”

“I know just about as much as you do,” Keith deadpans, settling the ingredients on the counter. “We need eggs. Are there any left?”

With a proud grin, she sets the carton down on the counter besides everything else. She settles her hands on her hips. “We’re going to keep this entire batch to ourselves.”

He smiles. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Turns out: neither of them can bake all too well. Half an hour later, flour marks almost every inch of the kitchen. Batter sticks to Keith’s hair from when Allura struggled a little too much with the electric mixer and there’s eggs dripping on the front of her dress.

The cookies bake in the oven, at least. Allura’s not entirely sure how edible they’ll be, but she’s comforted by the fact her three stomachs tolerate almost anything and — well, Keith’s half-Galra. He should be more or less fine as well.

She slides down to the ground, back against the counter. He follows after her. Their shoulders touch. A funny sight, she imagines: two of the Voltron paladins, one in her nightgown, of all things, slathered in food in the middle of the night. Defeated by cookies when deadly robeasts could not.

A giggle escapes her.

“Do I have batter on my face again?” Keith wipes at his cheeks with both hands, scowling. His nose wrinkles. Flour paints his eyebrows a faint white and batter drips from his bangs. “I thought I got all of it already.”

“Here, let me —”

They both freeze when she smooths a thumb over his eyebrow. Maybe it’s the heat of the oven only a few feet away, but a rush of warmth settles over her limbs, her cheeks. It creeps up her neck. Keith stares back at her, expression open and soft and reminiscent of sunset races through the desert, like the ethereal glow of stars and auroras twisting in the expanse of space before them as _‘you didn’t know’_ fell so easily from his lips. His eyes flicker to hers. Her breath catches in her throat.

The oven dings.

“The cookies are done!” Allura scrambles up towards the oven. When she pulls the tray out with her bare hands Keith starts to protest, only to blink owlishly when she calmly sets it down on the counter. She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat and peers down at the cookies. Some are burnt to a crisp. Others ooze dough. “Wanna leave these for Lance?”

“How about Lance _and_ Officer Griffin?”

He grins and her hearts dance an interesting pitter-patter. She blames it on the cookies.

 

—

 

The walk back from the hangar bears a heavy silence. Besides her, Keith walks close. Their hands brush against one another, her skin buzzing from every fleeting touch.

No one lingers in the halls on their way back to the barracks. Probably still at dinner. Which is good. No witnesses to the still mussed locks of hair that long ago escaped the carefully put together braid or the pink of her swollen lips. Her twin hearts flutter against her ribcage; limbs still buzzing with the restless energy from hours spent riding out in the desert.

Another brush of the hand. She chances a look at Keith and finds him staring back, face just as flushed, hair just as windswept.

Allura’s markings glow a bright pink. She tucks her chin to her chest and clasps her hands together.

They should talk, she thinks, but balks, unable to put words to the press of his kiss under the setting desert sun. Her laughter caught in her throat. It sat nestled somewhere between the two of them: the sound interrupted by calloused hands cradling her face, thumbs tracing the lines of her markings almost reverently. Her fingers circled his wrists.

The memory burns bright, almost like the flare of alchemic energy that bloomed around her figure so long along, hands pressed against the black lion’s jaw.

They stop at her door.

Neither of them move.

With Lotor there existed a set of formality: courting rituals her mother once taught her before her untimely death. Simple enough to follow whenever she faltered and shyness creeped up. A hand on the crook of his elbow and an invitation to walk around whichever ship they were on. Even the gifts he gave her she was able to remember the proper etiquette.

No pretense of formality resides in the tension blanketing between her and Keith. It’s — freeing, out in the desert or in their rooms once they’ve shed the weight of their uniforms. But she…stumbles. She looks at Keith and knows she wants in a way she never thought she’d want before except there’s no guideline. Only the two of them fumbling alongside one another.

She touches his wrist.

“Will you show me the cliff dive tomorrow?”

“Yeah — Yeah, of course.” He clears his throat. “I promised I would.” He says it so earnestly, so matter of fact, so — so very Keith-like that the force of the smile that blossoms on Allura’s face aches.

“Alright,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.

Any other night this would’ve been where she presses her hand to the door’s sensor and slips into her room. Except Allura’s fingers still press against the soft of Keith’s wrist where his heartbeat dances the same pitter-patter of her own.

She rises on the balls of her feet and kisses the corner of his mouth, impossibly light and fleeting compared to the way she gripped his shoulders only hours ago. Beneath her fingertips, his pulse rises. She smiles and pulls back, blushing pink and bright when he starts to follow after her only to freeze. He searches her face. She bites at her lip and gently squeezes his wrist.

“Good night, Keith,” she whispers, soft and quiet, letting go to step back and press her hand against the sensor. He blinks back at her, cheeks impossibly red, eyes bright. Just as she turns, she catches the smile lighting up his face.

“Good night, Allura.”


End file.
